


to be irregular

by WhimsicalSparky



Category: Evillious Chronicles
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Body Horror, Character Study, Gen, Lovecraftian, irregulars are way more terrifying here than in canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:53:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24944908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhimsicalSparky/pseuds/WhimsicalSparky
Summary: beings born outside of rules are prone to do extraordinary yet terrifying things
Kudos: 15





	1. scavengers

**Author's Note:**

> haha this whole thing feels like a fever dream. 6k+ words in like,, 4 days,,, of smth incomprehensible. wonderful  
> im gonna post the sections separately and further edit some stuff,,,,,, buuuuuuut here's h&g ig. it's not like this will be their last appearance hahaha

The fear of the unknown has always been deeply rooted in beings born from chiaroscuro. The fear of what lives in true darkness, deep in the bottomless abyss that lays beneath universes. It goes unspoken, but mortals and fake gods alike fear it.

And yet they yearn to know because curiosity is part of mankind. This yearning runs toxic in fake gods along a desire of control, of superiority. What means to be a god when you can't control everything within reach? The lack of control is a denial of their power.

The Barisol siblings reach for the forbidden fire and shape it into appropriated vessels within a woman's womb. Eve screams in her nightmares and the children eat up her sanity, ever so gleefully, in search for something more, starving for the love she promised them when she sealed the deal.

The children, malnourished and betrayed by the one they would call mother one day, burn to monsterous skeletons and Eve suffers.

The masked god whose false godhood was denied steals the fire and everything starts over.

The second time the woman doesn't promise anything, barren of love and warmth. But time goes on and emotions thrive within her, a understanding she's yet to realize. The children eat and they grow healthily. The stars align and something weeps in the shadows when Meta gives birth to the twins.

She flees with them and the twins understand her grief.

When Eve steals them away like how the fake gods stole the forbidden fire, their souls promise before the watchful eye of the Moon—the only Goddess in this world until their own ascension—and to their true mother that they would meet again.

.

.

Hansel Moonlit opens his eyes. He breathes. His heart is here as always.

He doesn't focus on anything. The room smells of wet wood, smoke and hatred—this isn't his room anymore, but he doesn't forfeit his claim until he and Gretel decide to tear the house down. The fireplace in the living room is ablaze still. The screaming has long ceased, though Hansel is haunted by those desperate pleas and the sound of spilling blood.

Eve is ashes and blackened bones at the fireplace. Adam is bloody strips of flesh in the other room.

For a moment, Hansel is proud of his display of slaughter, proud of punishing a sinful man, proud of doing something right in his fourteen years of self-hatred running thick and corrupted. The malice is loud, has been so loud for hours. Hansel wonders if the exposure to moonlight and the abandonment awakened malice's voice.

The Moon is ever quiet outside, judging him.

 _You killed your father in cold blood. Your excuses don't matter. You killed a person and you enjoyed every moment of it,_ the moss and rot in the ceiling say to him and him only, disgusted.

Hansel shakes his head. No, he didn't. He did what he needed to do. Adam deserved it. Hansel spent hours washing his hands and body clean of blood and hatred and sin. He is not to hate. He is to love. He is love, not hatred. Gretel is hatred. They are a perfect balance as all things should be.

 _You are a liar,_ the flowers growing in black boxes hiss. _You are more a tool than god. You'll ruin entire worlds for selfish reasons you'll justify as right. At least the Angel is aware of his lack of free will._

Wispy claws sprout from Hansel's shadow and tear those flowers apart. They dry up down to the core, never to live again. Immediately after, Hansel regrets venting so violently. They were simply flowers, though fragile and foolish, and didn't deserve such treatment. They weren't like Adam and Eve. They hadn't abandoned him and his sister in the woods to starve. They weren't cowards willing to kill children for their own survival.

They weren't ignorant enough to blind themselves to Hansel's manipulation of warm, destructive shadows and Gretel's hold of freezing cold and ever-growing darkness.

They never recognized them as their children, even less as godlings on the path to godhood. (One day, one day. Until then, they will await rebirth in another century and walk closer to their rightful thrones made out of bone and flesh and bloodied soil, at the end of the world.)

They curse the world for the injustice done to them, by the hands of a delusional woman and an arrogant man. Seven pieces of a larger sin carried by their repulsive bodies, now divided into cardinal sins and spread around them—flower, seed, gem, spring, wind, soil, forest—to endlessly curse mortals, until the day they are cleansed.

(They both know this day will never come. Hansel is hopeful, not stupid. This heart of his is not big enough. This is not his role. Maybe in a different future, he would've been more and his heart would be big enough to house and protect the entire universe.

But his soul is corrupted. His essence was tainted. His powers were drained.

He is not that Hansel anymore. That Hansel died in the forest, starving for food and love, and now he rots alongside his sister's real corpse and their shared dead dreams.

How ironic, he died similarly to his stillborn siblings. Are Cain and Abel watching them now? Are they mocking them or pitying them? Will they guide them to their Ending?)

He meets Gretel at the front door. "Let's find our true mother and father," she says the truth they shall live for.

They leave and never look back.

.

.

Magic Kingdom Levianta is destroyed a year before the first twins kill the first woman who harbored the fire in her womb and her pathetic husband. It is not a work of the twins but one of karma weighing heavy on the fake gods.

Abyssal knowledge is whispered in Gretel's ears as she travels. She sings the lullabythatwillendlife in ways that announce world's end without effectively destroying it. It is not within her power to determine the world's fate, nor is Hansel's (as much as he often thinks it is).

The stars speak of the masked god who stole the fire and gave it to the dragon gods before stealing it once more. The Moon sears a promise in their bones—one of godhood to come, centuries of malice and evil and sins, some of which they will participate in some way, the Four Endings and possible paths to take.

The Moon also speaks of an Angel and Hansel pales. His eyes reflect the horrors of a destruction he could never enact and the chaos brought by the existence of an Angel born from light and darkness and crafted into a boy whose heartbeats are the lullabythatmustnotbeheard. A tool god, if anything. A furious, faceless Angel.

Gretel grabs Hansel's hand and grounds him back in reality. Why is he kindness when he is destruction? She will never understand the cruelty of Fate.

"If it leads us to the Ending we claim as ours, so be it," she growls because she hates how that Angel is more than anything they could ever wish to be. She, however, recognizes that his power came with a price; for that, she is grateful.

"He can erase our souls so easily. I thought we—"

"Who can judge Gods but another God?"

And they will be judged for the sins they committed tonight and sins they will commit in next lives when time is right. When time is right.

The Moon proceeds to a pair of godlings who will be tied to lives to come but won't meet again after their original life. She drones about tragedies following their every step, a light that kills them even though it's the same that guides them to their blindingly white and golden thrones on the beginning of a new world.

"She looks like me," Gretel muses; the girl twin, she resembles Gretel too much. It's uncanny. She huffs. "I don't like this. Change her. Or me. I don't care."

The Moon doesn't answer, so Gretel figures she must do something by herself. Fine then.

And the Moon finishes with a pair of babies who shall be born too late and yet too early and will never contribute to anything but their own demise. Because they were never ready, they are too foolish and their wills will be overwritten by two different people, thus changing the course of history in a time loop to come; and finally, a woman never meant to exist and too different, too malicious, the purest incarnation of evil and she

will

finish

the Angel's job.

Gretel chokes on blood and gunk, her organs tearing at themselves as the dark consumes. Hansel's bones melt away, he falls and hits his head on a tree's root. The lullabythatwontsaveanyone echoes too loudly and threatens to kill them right then.

It stops all in sudden. They are alive.

"We must go," she gasps out and wipes off the blood. Hansel slowly gets up whilst pressing a cloth on his wound. The Moon witnesses the broken, cursed twins in their journey till daybreak.

They never stop walking.


	2. birth of an angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> he is terrifyingly beautiful.

Seth Twiright plays his role as he wants, free of restraints from fellow fake gods. He grins when he steals the fire and tears open portals leading to infinity. He steals more and more, from the abyss and beyond, from dreaming nightmares and loving fury—feasting on that maddening knowledge and never satisfied.

And then he infuses light and darkness and holy moonlight into a unborn baby to create an Angel.

He is terrifyingly beautiful. Seth records everything obsessively. Folders upon folders are filled with information as the boy grows—and oh he grows naive and angry, an eternal contradiction—and Seth proclaims himself a true God for this boy's birth, for an Angel's birth.

And years after his birth, Seth realizes what it is to birth an Angel.

"I want a sibling," the boy—Amostia, as he's been named in his seventh birthday—asks one day. His eyes are a unreadable blue. They flash with love and hatred, innocence and maturity. He stares and Seth is engulfed in that duality that should not be possible and the lullabythatmustnotbeheard is Amostia's heartbeats, and it's more frightening than what he'd seen through the abyssal portals.

He laughs, "Any preference?"

"Sister, brother, it doesn't matter. I want a sibling. I want someone to love and be loved by. It's human to have and love companions. Give me that."

"Don't I count? I'm your father."

Amostia looks up, and then Seth realizes he's made a mistake giving this thing a physical form. There is a glare forming behind that plastic smile. This fury is primal and courses angrily in his veins more than malice in HERs, and it hates everything yet loves everything. It's capable of anything it wishes, but it's too much for a simple boy. It is burning and killing Amostia from the inside.

Seth knows; were Amostia to attain the godhood that rightfully belongs to him, he would plunge this world in a sea of dark and light and flames (as he is destined to, but Seth denies this future for the boy he begrudgingly claims as son, though he feels no parental love).

Nothing would survive. Mortal and fake god, forced into submission by Amostia's infinite power.

Amostia finally speaks after an eternity of silence, "Of course, but you won't be here forever, will you?" and it is a lie. Amostia hates him.

(Why should he love him, when Seth submitted him to countless exams and experiments in his obsession to document every centimeter of Amostia's existence? Hatred is part of his soul and he knows it too well. More than he should, too.)

Seth tells a lie that he hopes it'll give him time to understand Amostia, "Indeed. I'll make you a sister."

"Thank you, father." Amostia's smile is genuine. It won't hurt the slightest to break this boy's hopes and dreams (that he never had in the first place).

.

.

It is a full moon night when time is up.

Amostia is furious, but Seth is prepared. Turning Irina into something close to Amostia resulted in a failure, but he knew it would not work either way. Amostia and Irina are too different. It's impossible for a mere ghoul child to become equal to an Angel destined to godhood.

Amostia doesn't accept it. "Give me my sister," he snarls for the third time. Seth continues smiling cruelly to the boy he claims as son despite the lack of love.

The explosions and screaming and crying outside resound even here—a laboratory built underneath a self-proclaimed holy country; a great lie told by the Barisol siblings and Seth still laughs at how low Levia had sunk. It's horrible to human ears but the cacophony is a prayer for an Angel who feasts upon suffering and death.

Amostia shakes with the power growing far beyond his grasp, bubbling just beneath his skin and threatening to explode. His skin cracks and drips liquid light. His eyes burn with hatred and anger. Wings sprout suddenly and painfully from his back, ripping apart the white cloth, feathers white and red and razor sharp. An obsidian halo of dark justice and madness upon his head.

Seth is both fascinated and furious. How foolish is this boy? And how dare he be beyond his control?

Oh well.

"Her condition was critical. I barely managed to move her soul to the cat plushie. She was too weak to withstand a shard of Creation without tearing herself apart."

"Liar!" Amostia roars. The ground quakes (from outside? from Amostia's fury?). "You didn't bother to try! I would know if you tried to infuse Irina with my Creation. She is the same and so am I. You lied to me!"

"Would you have preferred if I destroyed her soul?"

"At very least, I would know you tried and she didn't resist. I would mourn an eternity, but you wouldn't have broken your promise." The honesty is almost heartbreaking. Even in his twisted little heart, Amostia has space for a select number of people to love and mourn. And though he never met Irina, he mourns her. He mourns futures that will never come true.

Seth cackles, "You assume I ever cared about promises done to you! You, a monster who isn't human and yet desires to be regarded as one! See yourself in a mirror, my hateful son. Realize that no one would love you as I do."

"You don't love me. You never did," Amostia's growl rumbles deep in his throat. Inhumane, guttural. This is Amostia, no masks of innocence to hide the vengeful monster he really is. "I am a tool to you."

"Now you understand the truth."

This is the last drop; Amostia loses all self-control and jumps on Seth, killing intention in the blue flames he has as eyes. The next hours are bloody and chaotic. Seth is laughing and Amostia is crying.

Outside, a country perishes in black fire.

.

.

Seth realizes his greatest mistake was indulging in abyssal secrets and truths and giving birth to an Angel destined to godhood.

He laughs because, despite Amostia's raw power and nigh-invincibility, he was able to knock something greater out cold and seal him away in crystal and poison. The infernal chains will be enough for the next centuries. Maybe by then, he will figure out a way to effectively tame the beast.

This mortal body will give in to the injuries Amostia gave him really soon. Seth would die either way, Amostia simply accelerated the process.

It doesn't matter. Seth has lived a century or so, hopping from body to body. His stock might be empty now, though his ghoul children at Castle Hedgehog are intact to Levianta's destruction, but he can find somewhere else to go in meantime.

He sees faint lights falling to Held's forest. He knows where to go. What a pleasant coincidence.

.

.

Right now, Amostia sleeps in wishes never granted and prayers whispered by unholy creatures.

They promise him families upon families, siblings and parents, cousins and children. They promise the love he was denied to feel and the hatred he deserves for his crimes. Light and darkness embrace him and sing for his recovery. The threebeatlullabyofdeath is gentle as it makes his flesh fester and regrow.

Right now, Amostia feels nothing but the complex workings of his internal organs in full force to keep him alive. The poison-laced crystalline prison is strong to contain him. He can survive, however. He will.

He is the Angel that will bring the world's end.

He has a job to do and one day he will complete it.


End file.
